The Time lady and the King
by TorchwoodFallenAngel
Summary: They're the last of their kinds, both lost and stranded on Earth. There, Edmund and Romana wait.


**I can't say that much about this except it is a very important piece of fiction to me, in fact, probably the most important. I wouldn't care if I lost any other pieces of fanfiction but I would care if I lost this one. It has alot of me in it, I think. Please review it as I would like to know what you think. I spent about a year getting this to the standard I wanted it.**

**Also, there is a reference to one of my favourite books in here. If you can find what it is and name it I will write you a special oneshot of your choice. Good luck and I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Venice, 1959. <em>It's the most beautiful place in the universe<em>, one tourist gushes as she passes by the small café, undoubtedly heading for the Piazzo San Marco, and Edmund smiles slightly, sending a quick glance to his female companion. She grins back at him and shakes her head, blonde hair glinting like gold in the sunlight. They both know that there are far, far more beautiful things in the universe. Edmund takes a sip of his drink and gags as the sugar spreads thick over his teeth and tongue. He discreetly spits it back into the glass, shooting an evil look at his companion who delicately places a gloved hand over her mouth in a ladylike attempt to stop the giggles.

_I told you so_, she says, flashing a blinding toothy smile, _they always over-sweeten lemonade. I think they like it that way_. Edmund nods in reluctant agreement, thinking of bitter-sweet Narnian lemonade, not too sweet, not too sour, so different to the weak, sugary confections of Earth. It's strange, he thinks, how he ended up in Venice with an immortal alien woman. They make a funny pair; the once-Lady President of Gallifrey, ruler of the Time Lords, and the once-King Edmund the Just, King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paraval and Emperor of the Lone Islands, knight of Aslan. Both are the last of their kind, lost and stranded on Earth.

There is a shout down the road and Edmund's hand instinctively goes to his belt where an antique dagger is sheathed. It is old and plain- nothing like the over-embellished, silver and gold monstrosities that you can buy in the tourist shops. It has a simple wooden handle with a lions head carved into it and is sharpened to a razor edge. His companion's hand goes to her purse in which Edmund knows is nestled a small but deadly hand revolver. One always needs to be prepared. The shout turns out to be only a petty fight between two drunken Venetians. Edmund shakes his head and smiles.

He glances at his companion and she nods once, almost imperceptibly. He pulls a few coins from his pocket and drops them on the table, the cold metal singing as it hits the glass, before offering his hand to the woman. She smiles her thanks and takes it, rising from her chair in a stately manner that reminds Edmund, for a brief, heartbreaking second, of Susan, rising from her throne. Then she turns to face him and beams that bright, light grin -more Lucy than Susan- and she is Romana once more. They walk down the fondamenta arm in arm, taking as much time as they want. Venice is so much better if you savour it; take it in bit by tiny bit. Like honey, Edmund thinks, or fine wine and sweetmeats.

They talk as they do so; people watching and philosophising and discussing times long gone - worlds and animals and planets and people and creatures much stranger than the one they're in now. Earth is still strange to them though; disgusting wars and stuck-up people who still believe they're the only creatures in this universe- better, stronger, faster, cleverer than all the others. If only they knew.

To be an individual in this world is almost a curse. Edmund remembers how when they had stepped off the train in Rome people had stared, stared at his manners and Romana's clothes and the dagger at his belt and the two lone bags they had between them. Some people had stepped out of their way, believing them to be some sort of exotic Lord and Lady. He supposes he can forgive them that- he with his dark eyes and pale skin and thick black curls and dagger and her with her long blonde hair and freckles and shining blue eyes and long fingers, so different yet somehow the same- both almost separated from everyone else, apart from the crowds they walk in.

A king and a Time Lady, not very common travellers. They are both waiting; waiting in simple, honest calm. She is waiting for the Doctor to reappear, mad and wonderful in his bright blue box, and he is waiting to die. He realised long ago that the only way to get to Aslan's Land, to see his family once more, is to live. You can't end your life on your own terms like he had been so prepared to do the night Romana had appeared, you end it on Aslan's terms. And the only way to do that is to live life to the full. To live to die. How poetic. How like Aslan. How ironic. Romana glances his way and smiles that funny little smile- no teeth, all danger- that says _If you don't stop thinking and start enjoying yourself I'll hit you round the head with my handbag and I promise you it will hurt_ and he obeys.

It is five years more until the Doctor reappears, now bow-ties and tweed instead of teeth and curls, and with two young married things in tow. They all get along save for a few minor incidents and Edmund adjusts to a time-travelling life like a centaur to the open plains. They all travel together for another three years. It is a whirlwind of adventures and escapes and shocks and alien sunsets- one planet they visit, one tiny, tiny planet that only has three volcanoes, a sheep and a beautiful rose underneath a glass dome, dead but perfectly preserved, had forty-four sunsets. They watched them all in sequence, one sunset after another. The planet felt like it was waiting, waiting in silence for someone who isn't them, and they left in silence. Edmund thinks the planet is still waiting.

Then Amy and Rory have a baby. They christen her Melody and go and live on earth because they all know that the TARDIS is no place to raise a child. They go back to Leadworth, to many grumbles from the Doctor. There are tearful goodbyes and promises to visit. They never do. The Doctor is still running.

He is always running. Sometimes Edmund thinks he doesn't know how to stop. He runs from the shadows in the TARDIS, the whispers on Earth, the gravestones, the obituaries, the marriage proposals and birth announcements. He runs from those he left behind. He runs from those who left him. He runs from the ones he can't and couldn't save and the ones he did. He runs from the past and the present and the future. He runs from the light and the dark and the good and the bad and all his friends, shedding tiny pieces of his many, many masks as he goes; the grumpy old gentleman, the clown, the scientist, the eccentric, the young gentleman, the justice deliverer, the traveller, the dandy, the one with all the scars, the Oncoming Storm, the madman with a box. And Romana and Edmund run alongside him, trying with all their might to collect all the pieces without cutting their hands in the process.

And then one night, one dark, dark night the Doctor breaks. He has shed too much of himself, too much of his skin and left himself bare and vulnerable. All his masks have crumbled, all his shields splintered. _They all leave me_, he whispers, finally broken. It is the last confession, the last pitying lament of the broken man. He cries. He cries and cries and cries. But they are there. Romana clasps the Doctor's hands tight and pulls him close and rests their foreheads together in a gesture so intimate Edmund has to look away and tells him, promises him with everything in both of her hearts _I'll never leave you_. Edmund doesn't say anything. He can't. But it doesn't matter, they understand.

Then it happens. They are in the middle of a battle, fought by sword and bow and arrow, just like Edmund is used to. He has slipped back into tactical commander, taking to his old role like he never stopped. The Doctor stares at him with pity in his eyes but they both know there is no other way. Not this time. They have exhausted all the other options- the second-to-last one nearly got Romana executed. He is fighting off three armed warriors when he suddenly feels it. The adrenalin, the thrill of battle, numbs most of it but he still feels it - the pain of a cold blade slipping through the gap in his armour and between his ribs. It is a death blow, clean and well executed- Edmund has been in enough battles to know that.

Romana runs to him, cutting down the soldiers without a second thought, and collapses on her knees beside him. She tries her hardest to stop the bleeding, but he doesn't really bother to try and hold on. It is his time at last. He reaches out and holds her hand, squeezing tight. The Doctor crouches down behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on Edmund's. The two men lock eyes. They are so, so different but there are two things the same about them- both are younger than they should be and both are lost. And both have eyes too old for their faces.

Romana sobs and Edmund squeezes again, looking at her with an urgent intent. She nods, tears welling up in her big blue eyes. They have discussed this many times. She knows exactly what to do. He smiles at his two friends. The sounds of battle are already getting weaker, black creeping in at the edge of his vision like it did last time.

He closes his eyes and ends it.

He opens them to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and a cool breeze. The ground is warm against his back and when his eyes focus he smiles gently. He is lying on a pure white beach in his old clothes, the ones he has dreamt about for many a night. The sand is so fine it barely scrapes his skin, the sea a beautiful aquamarine. He can see the shadows of tails in the shallows. There is a shuffling by his side and he looks up, still smiling. There is a young rabbit sitting beside him. It is snuffling slightly, ears twitching every so often.

"Hello friend. How good to see you again."

It should feel weird, talking to an animal, but it isn't. Especially when the rabbit tumbles backwards in surprise and lets out an adorable squeak. He laughs as it frantically rights itself and the young thing blushes and squirms.

"Hello your majesty. Are you…"

The question is hesitant, scared. He hadn't meant to be so crude but Edmund only smiles at it, full and joyful and warm. The rabbit blushes, suddenly shy. It twitches its nose a couple of times and shuffles in the little hollow it has made.

"Yes, friend. Yes I am. Now, if I might ask, where am I?"

The rabbit's eyes widen until they look too big perched atop his little button nose.

"Why Narnia of course! Your Majesty…"

It hurriedly adds the suffix, knowing that its mother will box its ears if she knew that he had been impolite to an actual King of Narnia. Edmund smiles again, tears suddenly running down his face. He is back. He spies a castle atop the cliffs and even after all these years, after all this time, the beauty of it still makes his heart sing. He feels right here. He belongs here. He knows this world and it knows him.

There are no trumpets, no heralds, no exultations, so he knows he hasn't been spotted yet. He takes his time. He goes the long way, the old way, winding through the forests, breathing in that pure, brilliant Narnian air, sweet and cool and warm all at the same time. He passes through the Cair's gates unmolested, there are no guards there, not any more, through the lush green gardens bursting with flowers and fruit trees, and emerges in the courtyard. And there he stops.

There is a table laid with the finest goblets and plates the Cair has to offer, all filled to the brim with what he knows will be the sweet, rich Narnian wine he has so longed for and piled high with food of all kinds; fruits and meats and breads and sweetmeats. And clustered around the table are the ones he has been waiting for so long. They don't notice him at first, too engrossed in their conversation.

There's Digory, with a beard of gold and the wisest eyes Edmund has ever seen here, almost as wise as the Doctor's. Polly sits beside him, smiling in joy, her long brown hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders, not a strand of grey to be seen. They are talking in hushed tones, sharing secret glances and tiny smiles.

Then next to her is Eustance, all grown up and not trace of arrogance to be seen on his face. He is discussing something in a grave voice with an owl. Jill is sitting opposite him, smiling and laughing at a joke made by an old marshwiggle. Edmund is pretty sure the joke isn't that at all, judging by the marshwiggle's face, and he just has to smile.

And he stares and stares because there's Cor and his brother Corin and Trumpkin the dwarf and Trufflehunter and Glenstorm the centaur is standing guard over a large vat of ale. They are all watching in silent amusement as Caspian himself tries to out drink an already rather drunk beaver.

And all the breathe catches in his throat and tears rise in his eyes because the beaver is being harassed by his wife and Edmund would recognise _that_ tone of voice anywhere. It's Mrs Beaver. So that must have to be Mr Beaver and that means that…

Edmund crumples against the stone entrance, retreating into the shadows. Tears pour down his face, hot and salty and thick with memories. He would know that scarf anywhere. The name scrapes across his throat like sandpaper and it comes out as barely a whisper.

"Mr Tumnus."

And it is. And next to him…Next to him…Next to him is a young lady in a shining red dress. She has long blonde hair and a joyful, innocent face and her laugh is like bells on the wind. Her silver crown, so delicate and sweet, is at a slight angle on her head. It always was. Lucy. He stares at her for a while, grinning as she swipes one of Caspian's tankards and drains it herself, slamming it down on the table just like he remembers. There is a stern shout from a few seats down and Edmund sobs raggedly, one hand flying up to stifle the sound.

Susan. She is sitting next to an awed young nymph, somehow managing to look more dignified than the rest of the table put together. Her long green gown is cut to make her look as womanly as Lucy is childish. She shakes her head at her little sister's antics and brings a goblet of wine to lips, drinking it as if she were drinking from a communion cup and she is seated as if on her throne at the Cair. She turns her gaze to the head of the table and smiles at a man there.

The man dips his head in humorous acknowledgment and Edmund gasps, a lump forming thick and hard in his throat. It's Peter. He looks every inch the High King he is, seated respectfully down the table from the two most incredible figures he has ever seen. He is dazzling in his knight's wear but doesn't look as though he's been near a battle in all his life. Yet there is still something in his gaze, something that he sees mirrored in Susan's eyes and Lucy's and Jill and Eustance and Caspian. The steely flint of a warrior. Edmund knows it is in his eyes too.

Edmund eventually tears his gaze away from his brother and stares in awe at the figures at the table's head. It is King Frank and Queen Helen. He fights the urge to fall to his knees and bow as he would have done in any other circumstance - he can't risk being seen, not yet. So he waits for a while, watching his family and friends like a ghost watches those unseeing inhabitants of the abode it haunts. He watches as Caspian finishes out drinking Mr Beaver and is instead drawn into a challenge against Lucy they all know he will not win.

He watches until the food goes cold and hoards of serving fauns replace the dishes and refill the goblets but he still does not reveal himself and they do not leave. He is waiting for something. And soon he feels it. There is a breathe on his neck, hot and warm and full of love.

"Aslan."

The word is everything. He hasn't said it in so long.

"Edmund, my child. Why do you not reveal yourself to them?"

Edmund turns and stares into the deep golden eyes of the lion, tears pooling in his own.

"I can't Aslan. I'm not clean."

The words are pitiful, wretched and claw their way out from the depths of his heart. They hurt so badly. But they are the truth. They are his worst fear; that he would get so close to them, so near, and then Aslan would see fit to send him back.

Aslan breathes out, deep and sorrowful, filling Edmund with a strange sort of hope tangled almost endlessly with a horrible nagging dread. Warm breathe washes over Edmund's face, caressing him when he is sure he should have been assaulted.

"Oh my child…Why would you think that?"

"Because of what I am Aslan. I am a traitor, a betrayer. I am stained with so much blood. They are so beautiful, so clean. I would sully their purity with my presence. I could not do that to them. It is better for them to wait for all eternity than to see me like this."

He feels like a child, admitting his deepest, darkest secret to the great lion. Edmund bows his head, waiting for the inevitable growl, the cuff of a great paw on his head, the rake of claws across his body, plunging deep into his heart. None come. Instead three great, salty teardrops land on his cheeks, sliding down and dropping to the grass where they lie, delicately balancing on the edge of the blades, like dew in the morning. He looks up, startled. The great lion is crying. He straightens up, reaching out, his voice almost like a child's in its urgency and horror.

"Oh Aslan! I did not mean to upset you! Please, don't cry!"

Aslan reaches out with one soft paw and gently lays it on Edmund's shoulder, pushing him back down onto the ground. The weight is both comforting and warning.

"Oh my sweet child. Edmund, you are not dirty. You are clean. You are the cleanest of them all. You repented, you let yourselves be forgiven but you worked for it. Edmund my child, your place beside them has always been written. You have always been welcome at my table. So go my child, greet your brothers and sisters. Sit with them, eat with them, drink with them. You will always be welcome in my garden Edmund. Be happy my child."

Edmund smiles wide and wild, tears of gratitude and love running down his cheeks in droves. He gazes up at Aslan, hoping he can convey his thanks without having to speak. Aslan says nothing else. He bends down and breathes over Edmund again, ruffling his hair. A joy rises in his heart, a fire of love kindling the delight coursing through his veins. He feels so young again, like that first time he had been on the receiving end of Aslan's unending love. By the time he opens his eyes and stands Aslan is walking away, nearly halfway into the gardens around the Cair. He calls out once more, now uncaring if others may hear.

"Aslan! Please, tell me, are they…Will they…"

There is no need to finish. Aslan nods slowly.

"They will be eventually. Lady Romanadvelundator is a good person for the Doctor. I believe she may be the only person in the universe who is capable of fixing him. Now go Edmund. Your place is here now. Your time in the Shadowlands has passed. Go to them my child."

And then he is gone, stepping into the trees and out of sight. Edmund wonders whether this is the last time he'll see him. He thinks it may be.

He waits for a while under the archway, reflecting on all his lives before; all his time in Narnia, all his times as king, all his time in the TARDIS. The air is heavy with memories and ghosts of the past. He remembers. And he closes his eyes and he knows that even though he is here and the TARDIS is so many miles away they are with him and he is with them. He feels Romana's long fingers brush his, hears her laugh ringing in his ears. He sees the Doctor's eyes, boring deep into his like they are reading every thought in his head and he hears that fire-and-ice voice resonating around his mind.

And Edmund turns, brushing down his tunic and grasping his sword in hand, and steps out of the shadows, as determined as he was when he stepped into the TARDIS for the first time. Susan sees him first, rising out of her chair with a gasp, knocking her goblet over as she does. The table goes silent, all heads, human and otherwise turning towards him. The silence is like that when you see a ghost or a supposedly long-dead foe.

Then suddenly there is the shout he has been waiting for years to hear, bursting from his little sister's mouth like a breathless prayer, like one blessed ray of light bathing him in warmth.

"EDMUND!"

And by this he knows he is finally where he belongs. He is finally home.


End file.
